


Dennis (maybe) Meets a Serial Killer

by melonbug



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Drunk Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's not healthy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre-Canon, Serial Killer Fetish, Unsafe Sex, don't have sex with creepy strangers yall, unhealthy coping methods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbug/pseuds/melonbug
Summary: He had no idea what awaited him after the round(s) of sex he knew they were about to have, but he was drunk enough that this seemed like a very, very good idea.





	Dennis (maybe) Meets a Serial Killer

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SunnyRarePairs2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SunnyRarePairs2) collection. 



> this prompt was wonderful. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this :)

The bathroom was disgusting. It smelled of urine and vomit and shit and Dennis’ shoes squeaked in piss as he crossed the room to the mirror. It was equally vile: dirty and spotted with soap scum, and splashes of urine and semen, and lord only knew what else. Dennis stared at the reflection staring back at him and frowned at his appearance. He dragged his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it; he swept a finger across the bags beneath his eyes, futilely attempting to smooth the lines there; his crows feet deepened when he smiled, so he didn’t. He’d gotten that from his mother. 

The loud throb of bass assaulted him as he finally stepped from the restroom and headed for the bar. The club was alive and made his blood pump fast as he pushed his way through the crowd; bodies gyrated all around him, hormones and sweat filling the air. The club was near chaos, the way he liked it, and if his sole mission at the moment wasn’t to get completely shitfaced, then he’d be amongst the press of sticky bodies.

The bar was less slammed than it had been when he’d first exited the dance floor to relieve himself; there’s a  _ good _ song playing, with extra loud and throbby bass, and those lingering around the bar have surged away.

The bartender spotted him before he could flag her down. She gave him a sour look and pointedly helped the man next to him instead; she took her sweet time getting his beer, making a show of opening the cap and sliding it to the other customer with a flirty smile. It dropped the moment Dennis forced his way into her line of site, before she could ‘overlook’ him again to serve someone else.

“You’re cut off,” she said firmly. She had to shout to be heard over the music but he had heard her loud and clear; he’d heard those words before.

Dennis turned the charm up to ten and leaned against the bar. He nearly toppled from his seat in the process but he was pretty sure she didn’t notice. “Just one more?” he asked. He said the words slowly and carefully but slurred them anyway. She wrinkled her nose at him but he wasn’t to be deterred. “A beer? A  _ shitty _ beer?” Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

She leaned forward and for a moment he thought he had won her over. Then she slammed his bill and his card down in front of him. “Close your tab and leave,” she told him.

He toyed with his bottom lip, trying to decide if it would be worth it or not to press the matter harder. The bouncer at the entrance to the club had been a large, mean looking man—as all bouncers should be.

Even in the drunken stupor, he knew it wasn’t worth it. There were plenty of other places he could go.

The bar he ended up in was a shithole, the kind of place that someone would only go to out of desperation; surely no one would willingly step into such a place. It stunk of mildew and rot and something sour. He suddenly found himself missing the smell of the bathroom at the club.

It was surprisingly not empty; a couple sat in a corner booth, fondling each other under the beat-all-to-hell table. There were a few people at the bar and, behind the counter, a ragged old bartender who looked to be on the edge of death. He moved about slowly, robotically wiping the counter down with a rag, and he didn’t even spare Dennis more than a passing glance as he slid onto a stool at the bar.  _ Good. _ The bartender probably wouldn’t notice he was already drunk; no chance in getting cut off at a place like this.

He ended up getting a beer—a  _ shitty  _ beer—and he sat nursing it, slump-leaning against the bar and enjoying the woozy weight of his buzz. In the time it had taken him to leave the club and make his way to where he was now, the hard drunk edge of the alcohol had begun to subside; he was now skating that fineline where his drunk was threatening to become all out fucked up, and he was happy enough to toe the line for now. It wasn’t all that late yet, he had plenty of time to hit fucked up.

Dennis noticed eyes on him after a while, when he was a little past halfway done with his beer. They’d been on him off and on and now he tried and mostly failed to cast a covert look at whoever had been watching him so intently; it was a man one empty bar stool down. They locked eyes as Dennis tried to stealth look and he swallowed thickly at the gaze leveled his way.

The man’s eyes were  _ terrifying;  _ just beneath the corner of one were two teardrop tattoos—prison tats, probably—and his hair was long and salt and pepper and pulled back in a ponytail. He looked threatening, from his frightening grin—situated within a goatee that matched the silver of his hair—to his posture, to the way he held his beer—he held it loosely by the neck, his fingers curled precariously, one of them swiping over the lip of the top of the bottle. Dennis imagined those same hands wrapped around  _ his  _ neck and he sucked in a sharp breath.

He had little shame. When he was drunk, he had  _ no _ shame. The man was old enough to be his father and Dennis slid over to the empty stool between them, all the more excited. More importantly, he was a father  _ disappointer. _

“Are you a killer?” Dennis asked. He breathed it out softly, sweeping his eyes over the man and his grungy appearance. He looked like he could be a killer; his eyes were crazed and bugged out like a wild, vicious animal.

The man stared him down with those crazy eyes. “Why?” He leaned forward, far far into Dennis’ personal space. “You need someone killed?” A strong hand dropped to Dennis’ thigh beneath the bar, squeezing and working the muscle there. Dennis shuddered and bit his lip. He darted his eyes this way and that before finally settling them on the man’s face and his sleazy smirk.

He was drunk enough that this seemed like a very, very good idea. He’d come out to get fucked up; sex with a stranger he met in a dumpy bar fit that description well enough. He was certainly drunk enough that this weird, fucked up foreplay had his heart racing fast.

The tiny sober voice in his mind quietly murmured that this was a terrible, terrible idea. He ignored it, like he always did when he knew he was messing up irreparable. He did that a lot.

The man ushered him to a shitty motel; it wasn’t a far walk and he only stumbled once or twice on their way. Every time, the man caught him by the arm, his grip tight. Dennis wondered if they were in view of a security feed; maybe they could piece together what might happen to him from it. Maybe some hobo crouched in an alley might spot them and provide key information.

The thought sent a thrill through him. He shook as they walked, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. His heart beat fast in his chest and his mind raced with the risk he was taking. There was a hole burning inside of him, hot and bright and painful, and it now seemed everything had been building to this moment. He had no idea what awaited him after the round(s) of sex he knew they were about to have.

Dennis wondered if his mother would weep when they pulled his rotting, waterlogged corpse from the river. Maybe her tears would be genuine. Dee would certainly cry for the news crews if only to milk the attention for all it was worth. 

He let the scent of stale cigarettes and sex wash over him as they stepped into the motel room. The mattress sagged as Dennis plopped down onto the bed; the bedspread was littered with holes, the material coarse and scratchy where he curled his hands into it. It would rub his knees red when they got to it; he shuddered at the thought.

They didn’t waste time getting to the sex. They didn’t exchange names or pleasantries of any manner.

Dennis pulled his clothes off as the other man pulled out condoms and lube. He took a moment to appreciate the clothing as he pulled each article off. They would likely be burned, to hide any evidence of course; everything he had been wearing was designer and expensive, all the way down to his boxers.

He didn’t hesitate getting onto his knees; it was his favorite position, especially when he craved it rough and deep. He had a feeling the man wouldn’t object and sure enough, calloused fingers dragged themselves along his cheeks, spreading them open to reveal his tight hole. The lube was cold when a finger was pressed to it. It was large and he yielded to it only with some pressure. The man wasn’t bothering to be gentle and Dennis couldn’t say that he didn’t want it like that.

He absolutely wanted it like that.

He was given time to adjust at least and he let out a small moan as he pressed himself back onto the thick finger pushing itself deeper and deeper. Another one joined it soon after, with more cool lube coating it; the cold made him shiver and spread goosebumps across his skin.

The man wasn’t completely cruel; he worked his fingers into him thoroughly, scissoring them and, after a while of it, when he had three fingers thrusting into him, he curled them and pressed them hard against his prostate.

Dennis had no real desire to be noisy; it didn’t seem appropriate when having sex with a stranger who probably planned to kill him after. But he let out a choked noise now, spots dancing in his eyes at the pleasure. He didn’t do it more than a few times, and then the fingers disappeared and were quickly replaced by the fat tip of the other man’s cock.

It was thicker around than his fingers, but he was still slick from the lube and open from the vigorous fingering. It slid in with only minimum trouble and Dennis panted as it slammed into him, pressing deep and rough from the very first thrust.

The man’s grunts were filthy as he pounded into him and Dennis keened when the man grabbed a fist full of his hair, holding him fast. He was strong; if he wanted to he could pin Dennis down and do with him what he wanted and Dennis would be helpless against it. The thought went straight to his dick, where it hung heavy and untouched between his legs; he could feel it twitch violently against his thigh, bouncing in time with the vicious thrusts being driven into his ass.

Eventually a hand curled itself around the front of his throat, dragging him back and against the man’s firm chest; he was delirious with it, his air flow not completely cut off but his breaths still coming to him only with some effort, the pressure adding an additional thrill. The thrusting stuttered then, the man’s hips jerking sporadically, rapidly losing their rhythm.

Frantically, Dennis reached a hand down and curled it around his own cock, stroking it fast, biting his lips to keep noises from spilling forth, determined not to make this feel even remotely personal.

He had one night stands all the time, but this one sent a particularly different kind of thrill through him.

He came before the man did, his dick shooting streaks of come on the bed and up his chest as he fell forward onto his other hand.

The other man came almost right after. He pressed him down into the mattress by his neck this time, his other hand working to slam his hips back into his staggering thrusts. There would be bruises where the man had manhandled him. They’d be stark and ugly against his dead, pale skin.

The man came with him held down like that, gasping and grunting his way through it.

The moment afterwards was filled only with their pants and ragged noises. Dennis sat with bated breath, shaking as he had been, the alcohol settling heavy and fuzzy into his head. It had come on fast, with all of his expended energy, and now he fumbled to keep himself upright.

This was his opportunity; the man could knock him out no problem. Maybe he wouldn’t kill him right away; maybe he’d make him suffer first.

Dennis wondered if he’d  _ eat  _ him. He licked his lips and wondered if he was delicious. It was only an idle drunken thought, but it prompted him to drag a finger through the cum streaked across his chest. He sucked his finger into his mouth, licking it off, letting it linger on his tongue briefly to take in the taste; the texture was slick and it was bitter and salty.

They’d find the semen in his stomach, if they found him before he decomposed. That would make them wonder.

He looked at the man and he was dropping the tied off condom in the wastebin by the bed. It had probably seen a lot of used condoms over the years. This motel didn’t strike him as the kind of place that would clean anything regularly.

And then the man yanked his pants on and fixed him with another creepy, crazed stare. He gestured to the shitty beat up phone setup on the nightstand. “You need me to call you a cab?” he gruffed out.

Dennis stared at him like he’d grown a second head and nodded slowly. It took him a long moment to find his words. “Yeah, sure.”


End file.
